They Compliment Eachother
by TinyTut83
Summary: They had been two halves of a whole for 7 years. They had served the Divine with faithfulness and honor, but without her is there anything left to hold Left and Right Hands together?
1. Intro

They complimented each other.

The Seeker could be heard well before she entered any room, her boots, heavy armor, and tendency to stomp always giving away her location. On the other hand, if you heard the spymaster coming is was only because she wanted you to, her soft boots and light mail made her seem like a wisp of smoke floating from shadow to shadow as she moved.

Where Cassandra was all brute strength and honesty, Leliana was fluid dexterity and secrets.

The warrior often let her emotions spur her to action without thinking, which made sense once her love of (horrible) romance novels and naïve views of courtship were made know and the bard, conversely, was always thinking three (or more) steps ahead, and had learned the hard way there were no happy endings.

Opposites, even in title, who (frequently) clashed both verbally and physically.

And yet, they complimented each other.

Leliana helped the right hand see the big picture, to see the effects of her actions long before she even knew she was contemplating them. Cassandra ensured the left hand occasionally stepped from the shadows and warmed her face to the sun, keeping the small bit of compassion lit in her abused and neglected heart.

In the years since taking up their roles at the Divine's side they had gone from mistrusting coworkers to loyal friends. They had fought back-to-back against overwhelming odds. They had shed blood with, and for each other. They tended to each other's wounds, and had sat vigil next to their feverish, weakened, or otherwise bedridden counterpart more times than either of them liked to remember.

But they had also shared small bits of joy over these same years, even if it was easily over looked by outsiders.

A small plate of sweets brought to the Nightingale's desk when she worked late into the night. A new book hidden in the Seekers saddle bag as she left for some far off mission. Even just sitting on the same log round a campfire during the precious few times they were dispatched together, pressed knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, as if to acknowledge their mutually shared burden.

They had knelt in prayer, side by side, everywhere from the Grand Cathedral, to make shift shrines set a few paces from a campsite. They were joined by their sworn duty to their faith, but it was their faith in each other that held them together when all hope seemed to be lost.

But could that faith be enough for this?

* * *

AN:

Just a quick intro, think of it as the back of a book cover. I've never written this pair, or DA, before. My fics have been limited to Mass Effect until now, and my last one was abandoned years ago for personal reasons. I've actually got a plan where I want this to go, but I figured I'd give you this and the first chapter and see if anyone was interested. I love these two, so much! This will take place during Inquisition but have flash backs through the other games and between.

Quick Head Canon: Cassandra is 38 in my head at the start of DA:I (19 when she became the right hand in 9:22 dragon.) Leliana is 34, which is a year younger than the math, but it works for my story. They would have first met 7 years before DA:I. Just go with it.

Okay, Promise no more long notes!


	2. Explosions and Meetings

One moment she was standing in front of the gates to Haven talking to Josephine about the topics that would be discussed today at the Conclave, not that she really cared but she hated to dampen the diplomat's spirit as she rambled. The next Cassandra was looking up at the sky and brushing dirt out of her eyes as she lay on her back.

It took her rattled brain a moment to interpret what her eyes were seeing….A large hole….No, a large green hole, had formed in the sky over where the Temple of Sacred Ashes stood.

No. That wasn't right either. A large green hole had formed in the sky where the Temple of Sacred Ashes should have been. But the structure was gone. Replaced by broken walls, plumes of black smoke, and clouds of dust that blanketed the grounds in a dense sheet.

It took a hand grasping hers before she realized she was still on the ground. Looking to her left, even through the dust, she could make out the yellows and blues of Josephine's dress, and to her relief the Antivian's hand clasped hers gentle. A sign of life.

Hauling herself, and then her companion up to their feet, they both just stood and stared at the sight before them. Her warrior brain, the part that never completely shut off, had already put together what had happened, but the rest of her mind was slow on the up take.

The Temple was gone, and from the looks of it, so were everyone that had been in attendance already that morning. She was needed there. She was a warrior, and no matter who or what caused the explosion, whose shock way could be felt this far out, whoever they were they needed to meet her blade.

Turning to Josephine, she took both her hands and forced her to look away from the destruction and look at here.

"Lady Josephine, are you injured?" Her voice was harsh from the dust she had swallowed.

A deep breath, and a small cough, followed by the words, "I believe I am in one piece, but I can't seem to find my quill and tablet."

That told Cassandra all she needed to know. The young women was not going into shock, she was shutting down into work mode, exactly what Cassandra was trying to do once she was done tending to her friend.

Friend. After the past few months she _would_ consider the Ambassador a friend. She had had so very few in her life she is always taken a back when she realizes she has found one.

"I need to go look for survivors. How long ago did the Divine and her entourage disembark?" It was a one hour trip with her wagon and lines of Templars. Cassandra could make it in half that time alone on horseback.

Gathering her thoughts, looking at how much the sun had moved, and how much her candle had burned (well, how much it had burned until she, and it, were unceremoniously thrown to the ground) and froze when her head had finished the math, "Maybe and hour and a half, two hours ago. Leliana left no less than a half hour ago to try and make it before the opening remarks, she had been tied up with some reports coming out of Orlais regarding the civil war."

Cassandra's thoughts ground to a halt as the words sunk in.

No.

No, she had to be wrong.

There is no possibility that Leliana _and_ the Divine had both been there. There, where a giant crater stood as if one of they most holy sites never existed. No one could have survived that had they been in the former building, or even near it. The shockwave had been felt this far away.

No.

This was not happening. This was a dream, a nightmare of the fade. Her mentor, her guiding force for the past seven years could not have perished like that. Neither could have her friend, her closest companion and confidant, and the only other one who understood the burden she carried as the Right Hand.

"No." The word was but a whisper, almost inaudible as her entire being was seized with indescribable dread. She stood, still as a tree, her mind blank except for that single word repeating over and over again, like a mantra, as she just stared.

Suddenly a memory overtook her….

 _9:34 Dragon (7 Years before the Conclave)_

The first time she met Leliana the preparations had been underway to ordain Mother Dorothea as Divine Justinia V for over a month and Cassandra had been getting antsy. She had been asked to remain as the Right Hand, and after a week of solemn contemplation and prayer she had agreed. She had just pasted her 31st year and had known nothing but a life in service to the chantry. This was her place, and although the newly elected Divine had some radical ideas, at her core she seemed like a gentle, loving soul.

But the preparations for the ordination had to be a punishment for some unknown sin she had committed in the eye of the Maker. Listening to the endless questions thrown at the revered mother about colors, uniforms for the Templars that would serve as her honor guard, how her office, bed chambers, and private parlor she be decorated, this was Cassandra's idea of Hell. Dorothea field them all with grace, and an occasional smirk appeared on her face when Cassandra let out a disgruntled noise from the back of her throat.

It was a warm day in early spring when the Divine looked up at her from behind her desk after reading a message that had just arrived, "Cassandra, I have task for you. It seems my Left Hand will be arriving today, most likely before night fall. Knowing her she will have not stopped to rest last night. I would like you to meet her upon her arrival and show her to her quarters. I will have the evening meal sent there for both of you. Take sometime getting to know each other. You will be working closely after all. Once you have dined come to my parlor for tea."

"Yes your holiness," came her simple rely as she all but ran from the office just as the next assistant appeared with a list of questions about the upcoming ceremony.

Cassandra told one of the lay sisters to find her as soon as Sister Leliana arrived and took to wandering the gardens enjoying the warmth of the day. Everyone knew who the new named Left Hand was. A hero of the Fifth Blight, former Nightingale of the Imperial court, an accomplished (and ruthless) bard who had studied under the best in Orlais, but few could claim to know much about the actual woman behind the titles. Having a such bard as an agent of the Sunburst throne did not sit well with the Right Hand. How could someone so skilled at lying, seducing, worming her was into the hearts of her targets with song, be considered a true believer in the Maker?

The previous Left Hand had been even more socially awkward than Cassandra herself, a worthy feat in of itself, and preferred to handle Divine Beatrix's private matters from the solitude of her office. Their interaction was very minimal in the 14 years she had served the former Divine. Why did Dorothea, _Justinia she corrected herself,_ think the Left and Right Hands needed to "get to know" each other?

She continued to ponder this as she ran through some light drills with some Templar recruits. She had completed her normal routine hours earlier, but the repetition of the movements helped her think. The sun had just started to begin its decent when a runner found her polishing her sword in a silent corner of the practice yards.

It seemed the Left Hand was right on time.

Striding out into the reception hall, sword comfortably at her hip and shield secure on her back, Cassandra tried to relax her face into something that looked welcoming without suspicion, and thought she succeeded.

 _Years later Leliana would say that she looked like she had bit into a sour grape and that she was stomping so hard she was worried the marble floor would crack._

"Welcome Sister Leliana. I am Cassandra Pentaghast." She kept her greeting simple as she looked over the woman in front of her.

Girl in front of her. She looked so young, too young to have fought (and loved if the rumors were true) at the Grey Warden's side for an entire year during the blight. And before that she had sung at court? No. This had to be a mistake. Justinia was going to trust her most guarded secrets to this….this…child?

"Of course you are, everyone knows the dashing the Hero of Orlais, no?" The soft voice seemed to have a slight edge to it, as if it had suffered disuse for a long period of time, but the words were spoken in a warm playful tone.

Damn that title.

"I am not!" Cassandra replied with a scowl. "Dashing that is…what I am trying to say," she felt the heat crawl up her face as she tripped over her words, "I am known by that title, although I detest it, and I am by no means considered dashing!" She followed the last words with a disgruntled grunt. This meeting was not going as planned already, and she closed her eyes momentarily to steady herself.

Cassandra had told herself she needed to be firm yet professional with the new comer until she knew her place as an agent of this holy place. Yet here she was stumbling over her words and blushing like a raw recruit during his first dressing down. Opening her eyes she could see the hint of mirth that lay in the blue eyes of the red head, as well as an unexpected sadness that would not be explained until months later.

"Ah, but I think it is a most appropriate word to describe you Seeker Pentaghast, but I shall try to refrain from calling you dashing in the future." The smile was friendly, "Nor shall I call you the Hero of Orlais, may I shorten that to just hero, or are you appose to all forms of flattery?"

Another grunt followed by a simple, "No. Seeker Pentaghast or just Cassandra will do just fine."

"Well than, Cassandra, just Leliana will be fine then." The bard leaned forward and spoke softly, directly into her ear, "And I love flattery."

Her face had to be as red as a tomato by now and she had a feeling the would not be the first time their conversations would end this way.

* * *

AN: Anyone want me to keep going?


End file.
